


come all ye fair and tender ladies

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their movements are languid, dreamy, as slow-moving and hot as the air around them. Tyene knows full well just how to drive Arianne into soft madness, how to make her writhe and moan. Arianne struggles against Tyene’s grip on her wrists, rocks up to get more friction, needing more, panting and aching for it. “Come, my Sand Snake,” she says, the words thick and inviting. “Live up to your name and use that flicking tongue of yours.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	come all ye fair and tender ladies

**Author's Note:**

> From the kinkmeme prompt: Arianne/Tyene with [this image](http://data.whicdn.com/images/29473137/tumblr_lxf173sKRR1r9370vo1_400_large.jpg)

The day is oppressively hot, even for Dorne in the height of summer, the sort of day that makes Arianne wish she were still young enough to be at the Water Gardens all the time. It is too hot to be outside. It is nearly too hot to be inside. It’s too hot to move, it’s too hot to think, it’s verily too hot to do anything but puddle. Yet still Arianne is restless.

“I am deadly bored,” she sighs. The linens have grown warm under her shoulder blades. She rolls to her stomach to find a cool patch of cloth, kicks her heels up off the mattress to swish them lazily through the air. Her gown is so thin as to be barely more than a suggestion but still it feels heavy against her skin. If it didn’t seem like such an effort, she’d wriggle it off to lie in the nude but for the fine lawn stockings she favors, the ones that feel cool no matter how hot she is. Arys had given her this pair, lovely Arys. Truth be told, he can often seem a bit doltish, but still he is sweet and not a little endearing.

“Only boring people are bored,” Tyene says idly. She’s reclining on the banquette at the doors to the verandah in only her smallclothes, her body draped to catch any scrap of wind that wanders by. Arianne smiles at how scandalized her father would be to see his pious niece in such a state of undress. He likes to pretend that Tyene’s piety is genuine, that she is the soul of modesty and propriety. He doesn’t realize her propriety is a skin she sheds when it suits her. And in the privacy of Arianne’s chambers, it very often suits her.

“Spare me your lecture, Septa,” Arianne tells her. “It can only bore me further.”

“What would you have me offer instead?” Arianne props herself up on her elbows at that, gives her cousin a speculative look, one that Tyene immediately catches the meaning of and at which she shakes her head, the motion making her golden hair drag and cling over damp shoulders. “Too hot,” she says.

“It’s never too hot,” Arianne counters.

“It will only make us hotter,” Tyene says, but Arianne can see she’s considering it, can see the restless shift of her cousin’s thighs.

“Will you care?” Arianne asks. Deliberately, she rolls to her back, peels her gown up to her ribs and cocks her knee, revealing herself to Tyene, her cunt already beginning to ache in anticipation. Tyene’s eyes are hot on her, she tilts her head to the side as if considering.

“No,” she decides. Arianne stretches herself upon her bed as Tyene gets to her feet and crosses the room. The mattress dips with her weight as she climbs atop it, throwing one knee across Arianne’s hips to press their hips together, only the thin layer of Tyene’s smallclothes separating them. The pressure is firm, delicious, and Arianne rolls up into it, slides her fingers up Tyene’s thighs. Tyene catches her wrists, she stretches forward to pin Arianne’s hands to the bed, her breasts just out of reach of Arianne’s mouth. She gives Arianne a long, assessing look and sighs. “What am I to do with you?”

“I have some suggestions,” Arianne quips, and Tyene smiles as she leans down to take her mouth, pushing her tongue deep as she rubs against Arianne enough to make her wet.

Their movements are languid, dreamy, as slow-moving and hot as the air around them. Tyene knows full well just how to drive Arianne into soft madness, how to make her writhe and moan. Arianne struggles against Tyene’s grip on her wrists, rocks up to get more friction, needing more, panting and aching for it.

“Come, my Sand Snake,” she says, the words thick and inviting. “Live up to your name and use that flicking tongue of yours.” Tyene purses her lips and rolls her eyes, giving her head a shake.

“It’s not entirely flicking you’re after, Arianne.”

Arianne blows air through her teeth in a dismissive sound. “Details,” she says. Tyene laughs again, gives Arianne’s chin a fond nip, and then works down her body, wetting her nipples through the thin silk of her gown, biting at the soft bell of her abdomen just below the rucked up hem at her waist, before finally settling between her thighs and nosing into the dark curls there. Arianne’s hips buck up immediately, instinctively, already seeking more even when Tyene’s barely started.

“Greedy wretch,” Tyene says. She curls one arm beneath Arianne’s leg, gives Arianne’s mound a few light spanks with the other in just the way she knows Arianne likes. It makes her want to wriggle and squirm, but she keeps still, not wanting a single touch to go astray. Then Tyene licks over her from back to front with a wide, flat tongue, she pushes her fingers into Arianne to make her spine arch, her mouth dropping open soundlessly. Arianne squeezes around those fingers, she fists her hands in the linen beneath her. Tyene makes a cooing sound and touches her tongue just above her fingers before licking up to find the bud at the top of Arianne’s sex and sucking.

“Oh,” Arianne sighs, “oh oh oh.” It’s a surprise every time, no matter how familiar it’s become, no matter who does it, a surprise in just how good something can feel. Tyene works her mouth at Arianne, sucks at her in hot kisses that urge Arianne up the bed until her head is hanging upside-down off the edge, all the blood that isn’t in her cunt rushing to pool in the top of her skull. It’s so very much better than lying in the heat to poach, she thinks. She’s come once already and is halfway to another release when Tyene pulls away to rest her jaw, rubbing over Arianne with her thumb.

“Poor Spot,” Tyene says, thoughtfully, crooking her fingers up into Arianne and towards herself to hit just the right place. “She’ll be so cross when she finds we’ve started without her.”

“She’ll get by,” Arianne sighs. “Besides, it’s not as if Sylva hasn’t started without us a time or two.”

“But that was with _herself_ , not with either of us.”

“Again with the details!”

Arianne has come yet again, her head hanging even farther off the bed, when the door opens and she sees Sylva standing before her, flipped upside down. Arianne can’t help but smile at the thought of what Sylva must see, Arianne sprawled shamelessly with Tyene’s face buried between her thighs. Even upside down, she can see the quirk of a smile on Sylva’s face as she steps inside and bars the door. Tyene doesn’t pause in her attentions. She just works her tongue up into Arianne’s cunt and wriggles it to make Arianne give a high-pitched moan.

“What a picture this makes,” Sylva says. “And with the door unbarred, no less.”

“I told them to let up none but you,” Arianne pants.

“And you were too impatient to wait for me, I see.”

“I told her you’d be cross,” Tyene says when she raises her head.

“Oh, come Syl,” Arianne coaxes, beckoning Sylva closer with the curl of her fingers, stretching out her arms to catch Sylva behind the knees. When Sylva is close enough, Arianne reaches up under her skirts, finds the drawstring of her smallclothes and tugs it free, pulls on the hems to work them down Sylva’s legs. Sylva lets them drop and kicks them aside, widens her stance in response to the urging of Arianne’s hands around her thighs. “Don’t fret, Spot,” she says, “Tyene is occupied, but my tongue is still available for you.” 

Much better than lying in the heat to poach indeed.


End file.
